Truce
by Apapazukamori
Summary: Amid the rain, thunder, cold and loss, they could strike a balance, just for a moment.


**Truce**

He was soaking by the time he reached the underpass, having not counted on rain pouring out of a once cloudless evening sky. He had been running for more than an hour, doing the injured Sorata a favor and helping to search for his missing Ise priestess since his injuries prevented him from doing so. He'd been running nonstop and he was tired. Chilled to the bone as the late autumn thunderheads roiled above, he stood shivering amid several hundred meters of concrete and electrical wiring. As he glanced about, pushing his dripping hair from his eyes, he noted absently that he could have picked a safer place to hide from the rain. He could see three security cameras from where he stood, open invitations for the techno-savvy Dragons of Earth to come find him and bring the tunnel collapsing down without a second thought. Tired and cold, he made a fairly simple target.

But he couldn't bring himself to go back out into the rain.

The halogen lights above his head flickered as a particularly deafening peal of thunder broke over the city. Shadows danced and wavered with the dimming of the lights, reluctantly returning to normal once the power stabilized. He really needed to leave this place, he knew. Beyond the chance of attack by his enemies, without kekkai-producing abilities, an earthquake would do the job as efficiently as any computer. He'd seen no one since he'd bolted inside; all the intelligent folk had made their ways home at the first fat drops of rain, leaving him all alone in his idiocy.

Propping himself up against the pipe railing, he leaned his head back as far as it would go and sighed heavily. Three kekkai had fallen today. The headache was almost more than he could stand.

Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Out.

His position remained completely unaffected by the blackout; it was only light, after all. The only move he made was to open his eyes, letting them adjust to the dim glow of the emergency system lights. They had switched on almost immediately, for all the good they did. He could barely see the hand in front of his face, let alone anything else. Though he supposed sight wasn't absolutely necessary in this case; he knew which way he had to walk to get out. But for the moment, he simply stayed put, listening to the rain drop like little pebbles onto the pavement, sounding – appropriately – exactly like one of those rain sticks that had been so popular a few years ago. Every culture had a way to pray for water from the sky, but he'd never heard of any knowing a spell to turn off the heavenly faucet.

Perhaps the earth was getting in one last really good cry before she pulled within herself to whittle away her nails in anticipation of the end. For some reason, he found that image incredibly sad; despite all the trouble Mother Nature and her sister Fate had caused him.

"You shouldn't cry…" he whispered, the words even softer from his position. The back of his head nearly touched the base of his neck. It would all be finished soon, for good or ill. He should be the one crying, for all intents and purposes. He couldn't figure out where the "good" part came into play.

He wondered if she would offer him the same advice.

Amid the almost musical sound of the rain, he could hear a heavier impact on the concrete. The sound of footsteps. He straightened slowly into an upright position, fighting back the rush of blood back to his head that always made him dizzy. He stayed very still, hoping he was far enough into the tunnel for the light not to reach him. He'd rather not have a security guard chase him out of his shelter just yet; he was still cold.

He might have recognized the voice, had it not been raining, or if he hadn't been surrounded by walls of stone that created a magnificent echo in his ears. The combination proved sufficient to warp the sounds just enough to lull him into a sense of security. If he just stayed quiet, he would be forgotten and would be able to dry off in a somewhat chilly peace.

The frigid quality of his skin made the hand that grabbed _burn_. Yanking his arm back, he let out an undignified yelp; he managed to startle the other as badly as he'd been given. "You…"

Slowly, he glanced up to face the shadowed form of his Twin Star, bewildered and almost irritated at his safe haven being disrupted so. Still, something in his other's voice made him pause. Perhaps it was hearing what he felt being put to sound. Fuuma sounded as unwilling to fight as he did. His bewilderment changed to pure shock. "Fuuma…?"

The response was a bitter laugh. "As though we weren't cursed enough," he murmured. "I have to find you when I don't want to."

For some reason, that stung. Kamui supposed he should have been relieved that his Gemini wasn't out to beat him to a pulp tonight. As frozen and exhausted as he felt, he wasn't too keen on battling it out either. He had no answer to give to Fuuma's comment, since he couldn't even figure out why it had hurt. The other appeared not to notice his distress in the slightest. "So…" Fuuma continued, his tone as empty as his expression most likely was. "What is the little kitten doing out so far from home?" His hand brushed over Kamui's hair, making the younger boy cringe away as if expecting the attack he logically knew wouldn't be coming. The other chuckled softly. "And in the pouring rain too…"

Kamui sagged against the hand rail, shivering as a few drops of water, stirred by Fuuma's touch, slid down the side of his face. "I don't know," he murmured and the feeling in his chest was bittersweet; his words coming from a part of him that was too tired to be afraid. "Maybe I like waiting around in the rain for you to come and find me."

The silence that followed was so heavy that it could have suffocated them both. If not for the deliberate inhaling and exhaling of breath, Kamui might have thought Fuuma had left all together. For all that he enjoyed brooding in silence, he preferred to do it alone, and his Gemini's proximity made him nervous. "Fuu— "

"As selfish as ever, Kamui," Fuuma interrupted; the softness in his voice alone was enough to shut him up to listen. And his name being spoken with no special significance, as if that's all it was, a name. The hand returned, threading long, dangerous fingers through brown hair turned black from dim light and water. Despite Fuuma's earlier assurance that there would be no fighting tonight, he couldn't relax. He could count on a scarred hand the number of times his other had been this gentle; all of them had served as the precursor to terrible, heartbreaking pain. Kamui didn't want to fight, but he didn't want to hurt, either.

"Please stop…"

The fact that Fuuma obliged did nothing to assuage the tension pulling taut lines in his upper back. He sensed more than heard Fuuma step forward as his hand pulled away. He ran his tongue over dry lips and felt the railing press hard against his back as he tried to keep as much distance between them as possible. "What are you still doing here?"

His answer began with a wry chuckle. Then a voice, smooth as the stones that lined the walls, and just as dark. "I didn't leave you out in the rain last time, did I?"

All his senses screamed that the other was closer than he'd realized only seconds before he felt the soft pressure of lips on his and all those but touch ceased to matter. For all that he was chilled, Fuuma was warm and – as if to make the kiss sweeter – hesitant. As if his intuition was enough to bring them together but abandoned him once "what now?" was asked. A moment ticked by; then another, and they remained motionless and silent, save for the deliberate inhaling and exhaling of breaths.

Fuuma pulled away first, slowly; and somehow in the dark, Kamui's fingers found his own mouth. They were shaking as they pressed carefully against still dry lips. Words failed him, and for the moment he was glad of it. Nothing he could say would do anything but break the perfect quiet that protected them. From themselves, from each other, from anyone who would dare interfere.


End file.
